Angels Take Milwaukee
by KartheyM
Summary: When surfing the Net for anything out of the ordinary, Sam runs across an account where the angel statues in a Wisconsin church yard are supposedly "coming to life" and "stealing people." None of the traditional supernatural hallmarks are there-so what is really going on... and what does a church have to do with a big blue Police box that appeared out of nowhere?
1. Chapter 1

"I still don't think it's angels, Sam," said Dean as they rolled into the churchyard. "True, they're a bunch of winged a-holes, but—come on, man!" They climbed out of the Impala in unison. "Did you see the scratches on that body? We're dealing with some big-ass monster for sure!"

Sam sighed as they crossed the stony churchyard. "I'm just saying, we should not ignore all the witness accounts," he said.

Dean snorted. "You mean the rumors? Remember that nobody we can find has actually seen whatever did this. Have I ever said how much I hate these 'no-one-lives-to-tell-the-tale' cases?"

Sam glanced toward the walls of the church, where statues of angels gathered in recesses around the stained-glass windows. Some had their eyes covered as if weeping, some held their arms outstretched. He shook his head and followed Dean inside.

They made it to the middle of the foyer before the sound of the pastor's footsteps echoed in the stillness. The two brothers turned to greet the grey-haired man in the black suit and square collar.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" He asked.

"Father Tim?" Dean verified. When the man nodded, he flipped open the badge and gave the customary cover. "I'm Agent Spencer, this is Agent Guster—we're here about the recent animal attacks?"

The pastor blanched just a little at the mention, but recovered himself. "Ah, yes; I was just praying about that very thing. Poor soul!"

"Can you tell us what happened?" prompted Dean. "We visited the morgue, but the examiner could not shed much light on what could have killed the victims. He gave us your name, since the latest attack was here at your church. Was there anyone around at the time of the attack?"

The pastor raised his hand sheepishly. "I stay late sometimes; the research I do in preparing for sermons can lead to some lengthy hours in unexpected tales of exploits in early history—" He trailed off, as if expecting them to be uninterested.

Sam nodded appreciatively, "Yeah," he said, thinking of the wealth of records still untouched in the Bunker, "I know what you mean..."

Dean stared at him with a raised eyebrow. "Ahem!" He coughed. "Can you walk us through everything that happened that night, Reverend?"

Father Tim shrugged his shoulders. "Well, last night was a quiet one; to my knowledge all of the parishioners had left except Florence—that's Florence Finchley, my secretary; she elected to stay at home today, poor girl, but I can give you her address—and I was deep in thought, right here in front of my lectern." He gave a sheepish smile and gestured to the empty pews. "Sometimes I imagine seeing the faces here, and it helps me plan my sermons." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, I was right in the middle of meditation when—" His eyes fell on the wide church doors and his voice caught. The horror of the memory showed plainly on his face.

"I heard him scream. That was all; just one terrified, awful scream, and then complete silence." An intense shudder rattled the elderly man's frame. "I ran outside as fast as I could, and there he was, just stretched out and bleeding." The Father shook his head and frowned. "I must have yelled when I saw the body, because next thing I know, Florence was screaming and crying and calling the cops to report it... But you know what was the thing that I will never forget? It was his eyes: they were frozen wide open, and he died right there on the ground."

Dean scrunched his forehead officiously and pursed his lips and nodded and doodled in his notebook like he was taking the pastor's story seriously. "So... No signs of any kind of a scuffle? Just one scream, that was it?"

Father Tim shrugged, "I admit I almost convinced myself that I hadn't heard anything—but it's a good thing I second-guessed my first instinct!"

Dean nodded absently, "Oh yeah, good thing. So, uh... What can you tell us about the victim?"

"Stan? Not much; he was pretty regular in his attendance. I just wish I knew what he was doing here in the church yard so late at night." The reverend sighed.

"What did Stan do for a living?" Asked Sam.

"He was the town handyman. Real good worker, skilled hands. Anything needs doing, if Stan's on the job, you know it's done right."

"Any family?" Dean had stopped pretending to take notes, but his keen eyes watched the old reverend closely.

Father Tim nodded slowly. "A wife, Judy. I had to call her this morning." He glanced between the two brothers. "She's already been to see the body."

Dean nodded; he knew that this meant they were free to talk with her about her husband's personal life if they needed to.

"Did Stan ever... I mean—" Sam stumbled over his words as he tried to phrase the question in just the right way, to get the information they needed without raising any suspicions. "Did you ever receive any indication that, uh, that your congregation might be in danger?"

Father Tim snorted. "You mean, did I know of any wild, vicious animals roaming the woods near the church, waiting to attack? None, Agent Guster." He looked at Sam firmly. "If anything like this had happened before, you can be sure that I would do whatever it took to keep my flock safe!"

Dean shoved the notebook in his pocket, "All right, Father, calm down! My buddy and I are just trying to get a sense of all the angles. Now, if this was just an isolated incident, a freak attack, then we'll investigate those woods. But just to be sure—did Stan give any indication like he knew what was coming for him?"

Father Tim's face melted in a mask of horror. "You don't think—"

Sam stepped forward to reassure him. "Like my partner says, we are just making sure we cover all the angles."

The older man sighed heavily. "No; there was no warning that something like this would happen." He reached forward and gripped Dean's arm. "Stan was a good man, Agent Spencer. He attended church regularly, served his town, loved his wife—heck, they were trying to have a kid, those two!" Father Tim's eyes got a little misty, and Sam could tell he was having difficulty dealing with reliving the emotional trauma. He gave Dean the "wrap-it-up" look.

Luckily, Dean took the hint. "Well, Father, thank you for your help. We will get to the bottom of this, I can promise you that."

Father Tim bowed his head. "Thank you, gentlemen. Will that be all?"

Sam nodded as the two brothers shook hands with the reverend. "For now," he answered.

"Good luck on the investigation."

As they walked out of the church and into the courtyard, Dean gave a violent shiver. "Man, did you—"

"Yup." Sam's stony expression spoke of his discomfort as much as Dean's convulsions.

Dean wagged his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "There is something weird about that church, I swear!"

Sam glanced back at the grouping of angel statues. For the first time, he noticed that one of the "weeping" statues stood separate from the rest, nearer to the front gate. He glanced at it as they passed. It's dead stone eyes seemed to follow him as he left the church yard.

"I guess we'll see," he said to Dean as they pulled away.

"What say we give Miss Florence a visit tomorrow morning?" Dean suggested. "But tonight, let's see what kind of nightlife Milwaukee has to offer!"

As the Impala pulled away, Father Tim happened to glance out into the courtyard.

That was odd; in all his years as pastor of the church, he never noticed the angel statue perched on the top of the wall, reaching outward to welcome the incoming worshippers—or in this case, toward the receding tail lights of the black car.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, the Winchester brothers had just finished their breakfast of eggs, sausage, and pancakes, when a woman approached them.

"Excuse me," she murmured timidly, "Are you the two agents Father Tim wanted me to talk to?"

Dean sized up the woman: high, Puritan neckline, so no interest there; red hair in a severe cut right at the cheekbones; the brown eyes were genuine enough. He put on his best "church-boy" smile.

"Well, hello there, how are you? You must be Florence."

She nodded and accepted Sam's gesture to take the open seat in front of her.

Dean kept talking, "I'm Agent Spencer, and this is Agent Guster; I assume you know why we're here."

Florence nodded mutely.

Sam and Dean shared a glance. "So..." Sam took over. "Miss Finchley—"

"Oh, please!" Florence interposed nervously, "Call me Flo; everybody does."

Sam nodded, "Flo, would you mind just going over everything that happened that night? Everything you can remember."

Flo stared at him. "Which night?" She asked innocently.

Dean leaned in. "The night Stan died. Father Tim said you were there when he found the body?"

Flo's eyes just about popped out of her head. "Father Tim found a body?" She squealed.

Patrons were starting to give them weird looks. Dean raised a hand.

"Shhh!" He hissed. "You're telling me you had no idea?"

Flo shook her head, her face flushed and blotchy like she might burst into tears. "Agent Spencer, I can tell you most certainly that if there had been a body, I would remember! Secrets are kind of hard to keep in a neighborhood as small as this."

"Wait a minute," said Sam, "if you don't know of any body... Do you know a Stan Miller?"

"Who is that?" Flo asked. "I've never heard that name. Is he one of your suspects?"

A third glance; this interview was certainly the least informative they'd ever had!

"No," Dean said slowly. "He's the victim."

"Oh," Flo pressed her lips and dropped her eyes to the table. "The man Father Tim said he found."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying the Reverend was lying?"

Flo still didn't meet their gazes as she shrugged. "I'm saying that every night for the last week has been perfectly normal. Father Tim stays late to study, I leave—"

"What time do you leave?" Sam asked. Perhaps Father Tim had been mistaken, and Flo had not been there to hear him cry out. The time of death, according to the coroner, had been sometime between ten and half-past—

"I would leave at around ten-thirty, and Father Tim would still be there," said Flo.

"Okay, think back for a sec," said Sam. "This night would have been two days ago. Father Tim told us last night that you had been so traumatized that you stayed home yesterday."

Flo's mouth dropped open and she gave a little cough of surprise. "I did no such thing!" She cried. "I came to work yesterday like I always do! There was no—I didn't see a..." She could not bring herself to say it.

"Did Father Tim ever have any late-night visitors?" Dean asked, setting aside the topic of the body that was somehow missing from Flo's memory. "Anybody from the area coming to speak to him?"

Flo shook her head. "You don't understand; we are a small community. Anybody who lives within walking distance of the church abides by a curfew: everyone is home and stays home after ten o'clock. No one would even think about visiting the church that late!" She paused, as if she noticed that their faces were still serious, in spite of her responses. "You don't think that... Maybe... Someone wanted to make Father Tim think he saw something he didn't actually see, like... To discredit him or anything like that?"

Sam glanced at her with a frown. "Do you know anybody like that?"

Flo shook her head. "Oh, no, not really. Everybody likes Father Tim. The only trouble we've had is with the farm on the other side of the church property."

"Trouble?" Dean prompted.

Flo blushed. "The cows keep escaping their field to eat the grass in the graveyard. Nothing too serious, you understand."

"Ah." Dean nodded, unsure of how to proceed; why had Father Tim lied to them? "Well, thank you for your honesty, Flo."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help to you two gentlemen," she blushed as all three of them stood. "Is there anything else that I can do?"

"Yeah, actually," Sam said. "Father Tim said that Stan had a wife, Judy; do you know—"

Flo was already shaking her head before he finished his question. "I'm sorry; I don't know Stan Miller or a Judy."

Dean finished leaving the cash for their meal on the table. "Well, thank you for coming down, Flo. Sorry to have bothered you." He smiled at her.

"Oh, no problem!" She grinned and absently ran her fingers through her cropped red hair. "Hope you gentlemen find whatever it is you're looking for!"

The Winchesters saw her off, then climbed into the Impala to confer.

"Well," Dean grumbled, "that was a bust!"

"I don't get it!" Sam burst out. "To hear Father Tim talk, one could practically see the bloodstains in the courtyard. Now Flo says there hasn't been a Stan Miller..."

Both boys were silent for all of five seconds.

"So what do you think we might be dealing with?" Dean asked his brother.

Sam combed through his memory, trying to recall if the Men of Letters had ever encountered an entity like this one. "Something big, for sure. Those claw marks... We did see the body, right?" The interview with Flo was beginning to make him doubt himself.

Dean snorted, "We saw a body," he allowed, "but if it wasn't Stan, then who was it really?"

"Either Father Tim is lying," Sam mused, "or Flo lost her memory of the event."

Dean fired up Baby. "We need to get back to that morgue."

Dean and Sam walked in, badges at the ready. The same petite blond stood at the receptionist's desk. Dean took point.

"Hi, Sally—" he started, but she glanced up with a confused smile.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" She couldn't keep the blush out of her cheeks, but Sam—who had seen enough of his brother's encounters—could tell that she honestly didn't remember meeting them the day before.

Dean had already backpedaled to save face. Throwing a glance at Sam, he flashed his badge and said, "Maybe not; I am Agent Spencer and this is my partner Agent Guster. We came here yesterday to look at a body as part of an active murder investigation."

"Murder?" Sally blanched. "Yesterday, you say? Oh, it must not have been my shift, because I don't remember you two." She looked between the two men. "But if it's an investigation, I can give you any help you need. What records do you need to see?"

"Stan Miller?" Sam leaned his elbows on the counter.

"One moment," Sally tapped on her keyboard, eyes searching the screen intently. "Miller... Miller..." She chanted softly to herself. After a moment, she frowned. "I'm sorry, there hasn't been a Stan Miller delivered here recently."

Dean shifted his position, and Sam caught his meaning: another person who doesn't remember the victim?

Sally saw the gathering frustration. "I can show you photos of the John Does if you like," she offered. "Do you happen to know the state of the body?"

Happen to know? There was no way they would forget it!

"Victim had bruising on his upper arm, deep gashes on his abdomen and throat," Dean rapped out brusquely. There would be no more flirting.

Sally nodded and entered the information. "Oh!" She blinked.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Sally frowned. "Well, I opened the search to all records to find the one you're looking for, and the death certificate for Stan Miller came up."

"It did?" Dean cried.

"Yes, but—" Sally squirmed uncomfortably. "It says he died in the eighties."

Dean tilted his head toward her. "He what now?"

Sally slid over to the bank of filing cabinets behind her and rifled through one drawer. She passed the folder over the counter.

"Yeah, here's his certificate. He wasn't maimed, he died in his sleep."

The boys stared at the piece of paper; they had made enough counterfeit certificates in their lives to know that this was the real deal.

The questions spun through their brains.

Sally watched their frowns with growing agitation. "I'm sorry..." She whimpered, unsure of anything else to say.

Sam recovered first. "Thank you, Sally; we'll figure this out elsewhere."

They made it as far as the sidewalk in front of the morgue before Dean came to a stop. "Is it just me," he seethed, "or does this case make ZERO SENSE?"

Sam sighed and shrugged. "I got nothing."

Dean set off down the block, heading deeper into town. "I mean, assuming we saw a body yesterday."

"Yep."

"We go and talk to the last person to see him alive, get the whole story, everything's straightforward—" he stopped again. "And suddenly everybody's acting like this guy didn't exist?" He squinted.

Sam bobbed his head. "Not quite," he reminded Dean.

The older brother wasn't having any of it. "Yeah, and how about that? The guy who died supposedly two days ago has the same name as somebody who died thirty years ago?"

"Unless that's our guy," Sam said, regretting his words when Dean glared at him.

"Oh yeah? And what the hell kind of spirit or demon transports its victims through time?" Dean turned and started walking up the steps to enter the building.

Sam looked up. "City Hall?" He read. "What are we doing here?"

Dean turned back to face him. "You and I are going to look through the town's newspapers," he said. "If it's happening now and people don't notice, maybe it's happened before."

They went inside and received permission from the clerk on duty. Dean pointed.

"You take computers, I'll take the microfilm. You find anything out of order, you holler. Got it?"

Sam sighed and prepared to hunker down in front of the screen.

Dean flexed his hands to crack his knuckles. "We'll find you, you sonofabitch," he muttered. He started with the date of the article Sam had picked up that brought them out here.

The periodical for that date was missing, but he found an article about Father Tim and the cows. On a whim, he searched back over the rolls of film to the ones from the year "Stan Miller" died. Sure enough, his name came up in the obituaries.

"Here we go," said Sam. "I found an article about the church. It's from last week."

Dean slipped the film back in its case and moved to join his brother. "Does it have a nice view?"

"Apparently," Sam sighed, "Our buddy Stan repaired the rafters in the bell tower." He pointed to the face in the picture that was a near-perfect match to the one they had seen in the morgue.

Dean frowned. "Whoa, hold up!" He returned to the film canister and pulled out the obituary section. Placing it on the scanner, he snatched the paper as it came out.

"What's this?" Sam asked as his brother practically shoved the paper in his face.

"Obituaries," answered Dean. "From thirty years ago."

Sam found Stan's name immediately. "What?" He looked at the rest of the page as Dean tried to find a film of the article Sam was looking at. "Dean, there's more!"

"More what?" Dean gave up the search and rejoined Sam.

The lanky young man was busy scanning the article before him and circling names on the obituary page. Finally he showed Dean.

"Three other names on here are people in this photo," he said.

Dean pressed his lips. "So," he said sharply. "How do people who died thirty years ago suddenly show up in an article from last week?"

Sam shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Further inspection showed this phenomenon happening all the way back to the first census since the town's founding. Sam would find recent articles with pictures of various people, and Dean would in turn find their names in the obituaries from decades ago. What was more, when Sam tried to look up old census records, the volume of obituaries and birth announcements did not match the mortality rate recorded online. The brothers tried to find matching articles to compare information, but for every mysterious disappearance Sam discovered, it seemed that something else had vanished: the "daily paper" for that day.

It was evening by the time the boys had finished their "research."

"Well," sighed Sam as they left City Hall and headed back to their car, "we can at least confirm one thing."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, "this is definitely the weirdest case on record."

Sam waggled his hand back and forth. "Debatable," he said. "But there's also something else."

"Oh yeah?" Dean climbed into the Impala. "What's that?"

Sam took his seat before answering. "All of the people who have disappeared were attendees of Father Tim's church."

Dean shot him a look. "You think Father Tim's behind this?"

"Not quite," Sam admitted. "But think about it: the disappearances started happening six months ago."

Dean froze with his hand on the ignition. "Why six months ago?" He asked. "What happened six months ago?"

Sam shrugged. "I couldn't really find much, but I just figured—if the disappearances all happened in the church courtyard..." His voice trailed off.

Dean fired up the engine and pulled a U-turn.

"We need to get back to that church."


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at the church and approached it slowly. In just twenty-four hours the area had gone from quiet and unassuming to downright sinister. The brothers elected to bring flashlights and a weapon each-just in case.

"So," Sam whispered to his brother, "did Father Tim have something to do with it?"

"Might have been something he did six months ago," Dean murmured back, "but we don't want to make a move unless we're sure."

They crept softly into the courtyard. The outdoor lights on the church sent eerie shadows over the grouping of angels in the corner.

Dean caught Sam's gaze and nodded. "You know the drill," he said quietly.

"Right," Sam responded. "Look for anything out of the ordinary."

Dean nodded and departed to the shadowy side of the courtyard. Sam started his inspection at the very edges of the courtyard: windowsills, walls, thresholds, and all the corners he could see. The brick was old and overgrown, but he saw no sigils or marks or anything that would indicate a supernatural presence. He turned to bring his inspection inward-

and flinched as he nearly came face-to-face with one of the angel statues.

"Gah!" he cried, throwing his hands up.

Dean came running. "What?"

Sam took a deep breath to calm himself. "Nothing," he said, pointing to the statue. "Just creeped me out is all."

Dean snorted. "No kidding," he waved his flashlight over the faces of the grouped statues. "Who puts a bunch of statues in a courtyard like this? And look at that one," he indicated one of the statues with outstretched arms. "That looks like one seriously pissed-off angel."

Sam had to agree; the face was twisted into something of a snarl, not at all like the noble, gentle beings that stone angels were supposed to be. The two brothers began scanning the ground around the statues. Something nagged at the back of Sam's mind... something about the angels...

"Oh, that's it!" He cried.

"What is?" Dean asked.

"Six months ago," Sam answered, gesturing to the figures around them, "the church was collecting these angel statues in batches, and the last one came about six months ago. There wasn't a picture, but I saw the article when I was trying to find ones with pictures."

Dean began to take a closer look at the praying madonna nearest to him. "So the church gets a bunch of creepy-ass angels... and then people start disappearing..."

"Only to have died thirty years before they were said to have disappeared," Sam noted wryly.

"So..." Dean's voice got a teasing edge to it, "Maybe it _is_ angels..."

"Dean."

Sam spoke in a hollow voice. Dean had lost sight of him, but found his brother at the back of the gathering of angels. A few of them had their hands stretched out toward the one Sam was shining his flashlight on.

"What is it?"

Sam shifted the beam to the angel's hand, resting down near its side. "Look."

Dean squinted and leaned close. There was a faint brownish sheen of a dark substance staining the fingers of the hand. "Is that... blood?" he gasped.

 _"DEAN LOOK OUT!"_

Dean pitched forward as Sam blasted something behind him with his rifle. A stone arm landed on the pavement next to him-an arm with claws at the end.

"What the _hell?_?" He pointed his flashlight upward to the angel statue standing behind him, the one now missing an arm because of Sam's shot.

The face that leered down on him was not like anything carved by hand, and definitely not fitting for a churchyard.

Sam was shining his flashlight at every statue, his nerves on high alert. "I saw it move!" he panted as he hauled Dean to his feet. "It was just standing there, and then I blinked, and-"

"Another one!" Dean saw that same fanged, nightmarish face and blasted the statue reaching as if to grab him. "What the hell are these things?"

The boys stood back-to-back, pointing their flashlights at the statues. Most of them stayed where they were-the praying ones, the smiling ones-but every so often, they would turn and there would be another one of the "monster angels", reaching toward them and inching closer.

"Just keep staring!" Dean said. "Don't blink! They move when you blink!"

They barely made it back to the center of the courtyard, when a steady wheezing, groaning sound filled the air.

Sam desperately wanted to look around, but he dare not take his eyes off the creepy statues that shifted position in the shadows. "What's that?"

Dean saw a light in the shadows. It started out as a simple beam, then gradually he could make out windows, a tall, rectangular object... and the words POLICE CALL in glowing letters across the top.

"Quick!" he yelled to Sam. "These things move in the shadows, so we'll just hide in the phone booth till daylight!"

"Phone booth?" Sam hollered back. "What-"

 _"Go!"_

Dean gave Sam a tug as the two of them scuttled forward, away from the angel statues. Dean reached the narrow blue door first and threw it open, diving inside the cramped interior. Sam came hurtling after.

"Yowch!"

"What?"

Sam cradled his forehead in his palm. "Smacked my head," he said.

When Dean didn't respond with a smart-ass remark, Sam looked up...

... Way up.

Dean was still staring around him. They had thought they were hiding in a tall, narrow box, but the inside was as sleek and as brightly-lit and as spacious as the bridge of a star cruiser right out of a science fiction novel. The wooshing sound came from the tall column in the middle, pumping up and down like a piston. Lights flashed, alarms bleeped. Dean saw stairs- _stairs?_ In a _phone booth_?

"What the hell is this place?" Sam gasped.

A woman's voice issued from somewhere far away.

"Doctor? That you?"

The Winchesters stared numbly as a petite brunette with a British accent appeared at the top of the stairs and ran down without looking at them. "Doctor, what did you mean by running off like tha-"

She froze when she saw the two strangers standing in front of the door. Dean immediately thought how much prettier her brown eyes were than Flo's. Those brown eyes were very wide as she stammered, "Oh... you're not him..." She blinked and recovered far faster than they did. "Who the hell are you two, and what are you doing on the TARDIS?"


	4. Chapter 4

_***A/N: WhouffleSmolemanForever: If anything, it's more Whouffle-ish. I don't do cross-fandom-shipping, and I try not to break canon if I can help it! Oh, and also, it's 11th Doctor, not 12, just so y'all know. Hope y'all like this one! -KM**_

* * *

The Winchester brothers stared.

Sam leaned in.

"Phone box?" He whispered.

"Shut your pie hole!" Dean hissed. His eyes never left the woman.

She crossed her arms and surveyed them dubiously. "Well? Who are you? Was the Doctor with you?" She huffed and marched right past them to the door. "Well if he wasn't then—"

" _DON'T!_ " The brothers cried in unison.

She whirled on them. "All right, why not?"

Dean considered lying, but somehow, given the context, he wondered why he would bother. "Um, would you believe killer angel statues?"

She gasped and her brown eyes flew wide again. "Weeping Angels? You mean he was right?" She made for the door again. "We have to get out there," she said. "If they catch him there's no way we could rescue him!"

Dean stared at her. "Who the hell are you?"

She smiled grimly. "I'm Clara Oswald, companion to the Doctor; I'm the Impossible Girl, and I need to find him!" She shoved the door open, and the boys winced—but nothing happened.

Clara whirled back to look at the monitor. They had only traveled about a year into the future, but the town was already deserted. The brothers followed her out, staring at the overgrown hedges that were once the church walls, the silent, empty land that only minutes ago had held a busy little town.

"What the hell happened?" Sam gasped.

"The Angels must have taken everybody," Clara answered. She looked at the two of them. "And you are—"

The brothers automatically pulled out the badges, but Clara shook her head. "You realize I can tell those are fake, right?" The skepticism returned. "Who are you, and what would you need fake badges for?"

Dean sighed. "Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sam."

"Winchester!" Clara's face lit up. "I know that name! It—wait," she bit her lip. "What year is it?"

Dean arched his eyebrow. "Uhh, 2013?"

"Hmm, it would be in the past, then. Do you have a relative named Henry?"

Sam choked. "You met Henry?"

Dean glanced back at the innocuous blue telephone booth that looked nothing like the space-age command deck they had seen inside. "What the hell is that thing?"

Clara smiled. "It's called a TARDIS, but you might think of it as a sort of time-and-space machine."

"A _time machine_?" Dean squawked.

"Mm-hm; and space. Basically any relative dimension."

Sam was feeling the same way he did when they first found the Men of Letters bunker. "How big is it on the inside, anyway?"

Clara shrugged. "I've given up trying to think about it; it's practically infinite."

"But here on the outside it looks like—"

Clara nodded before Dean finished. "Yeah, a phone box. It's funny how few people actually ask questions about that." She chuckled. "You wouldn't believe how many times the Doctor has tricked the police into thinking he's coming in here to arrest himself—"

"What doctor?" Sam asked.

Clara blinked. "He's just The Doctor," she said with a shrug. "He's actually a Time Lord from another planet, but he defends Earth from all sorts of bad situations..." She smiled wistfully, "and the incredible thing is that nobody is ever the wiser."

The brothers shared another glance. "Yeah, we know the feeling. So... What can you tell us about the things that were chasing us outside?"

She gestured to a row of park benches still standing. They sat and she spoke. "Okay, the Weeping Angels are a sort of alien that exists in a quantum dimension."

Dean felt like he was back in... Whatever last grade of school he attended. "Quantum?"

"Oh I get it," said Stanford Sam, "so their space-time reality is different than ours, which is why they appear to move so fast-but only if they're outside anyone else's perception."

Clara grinned. "Exactly; they can't move when they're being watched, you see, even if it's one Angel watching another."

Dean hated feeling like the dumb one in the room. "Then how do you explain the attacks, and those same people showing up thirty years in the past?"

Clara looked grim. "That's how they feed, on life energy. They remove people from the present life, and then all of the future energy fuels the Angels as they live out the rest of their years in the past."

Sam could practically see Dean's brain folding on itself trying to work this out. His brother made a fantastic Hunter because of his precise, linear thinking.

"Okay, Dean, let me help with a little math," he said. "Say our guy Stan was thirty years old when the Angels took him."

Dean nodded, "Okay."

"So let's say Stan lives till he's eighty. That gives him fifty more years after his disappearance, that he should have lived here in the present."

Dean hesitated a few minutes. "Okay," he finally nodded.

"So if the Angels had brought thirty-year-old Stan eighty years in the past, that would give them fifty years of energy, plus more if he lives past eighty, and Stan dies... roughly thirty years before today."

Clara smiled approvingly at Sam. "Look at you, sorting it out! You must be really smart."

Meanwhile, Dean worked the idea over in his head and nodded. "Yep, now I got it. So how do we stop these sons of bitches?"

Clara shrugged. "That's what the Doctor was going to tell me, and then an alarm went off and the TARDIS started moving." She sighed.

Sam looked around. "So where are we now?"

Clara bobbed her head. "Same place, different time. This is what the year 2014 looks like because we haven't stopped the Angels in 2013 yet."

Dean stared at the young Brit for five seconds. "Screw this!" He snapped, and turned back toward the blue time machine.

With a steady whooshing groan, it slowly blinked out of existence. By the time he reached out to touch it, the box faded for the last time and did not reappear.

"Dean!" Sam yelled reproachfully as he ran back. "What the hell did you do?"

"Nothing!" Dean snapped.

Clara intervened. "He's right, Sam; it's not Dean's fault. The TARDIS sometimes disappears on its own." She squinted at the older brother. "Are you sure it's not invisible?"

Dean walked forward and waved his arms. "Yeah, it's gone," he confirmed.

Sam threw up his hands. "Great! So now we're stranded here, with no idea—"

"Now hang on a minute," Clara reassured him. "The TARDIS wouldn't leave us here without good reason. The Doctor probably found the spot we left and called it back. He'll look at the logs and figure out where we went. He might even be here within minutes."

Sam, Dean, and Clara stood around the space once occupied by the TARDIS. They waited several minutes. Nothing moved.

"Well, this has been a complete waste of time!" Dean grumbled sarcastically.

"We'll be all right," said Clara, "there's no need to panic."

"I'm not panicking!" Dean snapped, turning away. Two paces later, he faced Clara and his brother again. "Okay yeah, I'm panicking a little— _are you freaking kidding me? We just freaking TIME TRAVELED!"_

"Dean," Sam caught his brother's shoulder. "We can figure this out."

Dean shrugged off the hand and stalked away. "Yeah, well we'd better!"

Sam caught a worried expression on Clara's face. "What is it?" He asked.

"Another reason the TARDIS might have left," she began slowly, "is that it detected danger."

"Danger?" Sam didn't like the chill that came with that word. "Like what kind of danger?"

"The energy the TARDIS possesses, the reason it's able to travel inter-dimensionally, is—"

"Lemme guess," Sam winced, "quantum energy?"

Clara nodded, "That's why they've been after the Doctor and the TARDIS for years. He's practically immortal, and with the TARDIS..." Her voice trailed off.

"They'd feed off of him for years," Sam finished.

"Who knows what the Angels would be capable of, with a virtually infinite power source?"

Sam watched his brother disappear down the road through town. "So if the TARDIS radar got spooked and transported away—" he looked back at her.

Clara nodded, confirming what they feared. "They're here."

Sam turned to call for Dean, but his brother had disappeared down a side street.

"Dammit, I'll go find him," he groaned.

"Be careful!" Clara warned.

Sam had to chuckle and roll his eyes. Between the two of them, Sam was the least likely to ignore that advice.

* * *

Up ahead, Dean had wandered into the morgue where they had found out about Stan and the time discrepancy. Would any sort of files exist if quantum alien things had reduced the area to a ghost town?

Dean hit a few keys, but the computer wouldn't even start up. He turned to the filing cabinet behind the desk—

And the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He whirled back around as Sam raised his hands defensively.

"Whoa, take it easy," said Sam. "It's just me."

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean shivered, "don't scare me like that!"

Sam frowned. "What are you doing?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm just looking around, seeing if anything changed from... Last time we were here."

Sam nodded, "Dean, I really don't think this is a good idea. Clara said that—"

"You know what?" Dean jabbed a finger at his brother. "I don't give a crap what that chick says! The whole thing is just mumbo-jumbo crazy talk!" He moved deeper into the corridors, back to the operating rooms. Sam followed out of necessity as Dean kept talking.

"It's you and me, Sammy; we're going to work together and figure this thing out, Winchester style—oh jeez!"

Sam darted forward as Dean screamed.

"What, what is it?"

Dean turned around with a smirk on his face. In his hands he clutched a length of metal piping, which he had grabbed in his fright. "Oh, just one of those angel statues freaked me ou—" his smirk vanished as he remembered the singular quality of those particular "statues."

"Sonofabitch!"

Sure enough, by the time Dean turned back around, the Angel was gone. Dean glared at Sam accusingly, but the younger Winchester shrugged. "It's what I've been trying to tell you. We think they're still here."

Just then, they heard Clara scream.

 _"Sonofabitch!"_ Dean yelled again as they ran back down the street.

Back at the original landing site, Clara was rooted to the spot, staring at the Angel reaching toward her, even as her smarting eyes were beginning to tear. Dean and Sam ran up, and she finally allowed her eyes to blink—only to see a second Angel appear behind the brothers!

"Dean, look out!" She cried.

Dean whirled around and swung the pipe, but the Angel merely quantum-leaped to another position and Dean swung at empty air.

"Don't let them touch you!" Clara warned.

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the Angel, no matter how badly he wanted to help his brother.

Just then, a familiar whooshing groan filled the air.

"It's the TARDIS!" cried Clara.

Sam glanced to his left and saw Clara there. He felt Dean at his back.

"I can see it, fellas," Dean said.

"I've got an Angel on me," Clara said.

"Same here," said Sam. "Okay, we all have to go together if we are going to make it." His eyes were burning, by Sam knew how dangerous it would be to look away now.

"Okay, here's how it's going to be," said Dean. "On the count of three, I'll grab Clara, and Clara, you grab Sam, and whatever you do, don't stop running till we're inside, okay?"

Sam gulped. "Got it."

"One... Two... _Three!"_

A half-second later, Sam felt Clara grab his hand.

"Run, you clever boy!" She cried, and Sam half-ran as she dragged him.

He ran blindly, knowing that every step would bring the Angels leaping closer. He ran so fast that the blue door was in front of him before he realized it, and the blue trim under the word "ICE" smacked him in the face before he could duck.

Dean slammed the door shut only moments before the entire machine began to rock and shake violently. The motor whooshed and whirled, and the dials on the ceiling spun, but it didn't seem to do much good. Finally, the shaking stopped, but the trio still could not relax. Every ear strained, listening for the sound of Angels nearby. Then—

 _Knock-knock._

 _Knock-knock._

 _Knock-knock._


	5. Chapter 5

Clara and the Winchesters froze in the middle of the floor long after the knocking ceased.

Sam looked at Dean.

"Should one of—"

"No."

"Somebody's got to," Clara muttered.

Dean strained to listen. Even the TARDIS had the decency to fall absolutely silent so he could attempt to hear beyond the door.

The ominous crunch of slow, dragging footsteps... A high-pitched shrieking sound... The door burst open...

"Ah! There we—oh, hello, what have we here? Henry's boys, is it? I'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Glad to see you made it in. I rather hoped you would!"

Dean released his death grip on Sam's shoulder and turned to face the unconcerned, lanky newcomer in the bow tie. "Who the hell are you?"

In answer, Clara darted forward and threw her arms around the man. "Oh Doctor, I was so worried about you!" She cried, pulling back to face him. "You were right! It's Angels again, just like last time in Man—"

"Yes, well," the man didn't seem particularly keen on letting her finish. "Lucky for us, it isn't... _That_..." A shadow crossed his face, but he shook it away and continued brightly, extending his hand to the Winchesters. "Hello! What are your names, then?"

Dean sighed and slid his hands into his pockets. "I'm Dean," he grunted, "this is Sam."

"Dean and Sam?" The Doctor grinned widely. "Well! You two are legends—oh," he recalled what time he was in, "I suppose you will be, in any case."

Something struck the side of the TARDIS, and everybody ducked.

"Doctor!" Clara reminded him shortly. "Angels! Focus!"

"Right, now—" the Doctor moved to the control panel and vegan shoving levers and flipping switches. "All we have to do is get all the Angels to surround the TARDIS—"

Another assault rocked the box.

"And then, we move it a little further away—" he continued.

"What will that do?" Sam asked.

The doctor paused to grin at him. "Well, right now they're all looking at the TARDIS... But remove the TARDIS..."

"They'll all be staring at each other," Clara finished.

The doctor nodded. "It's a quantum loop. I've done it before." He paused as the memory of the plucky young woman named Sally Sparrow returned.

The TARDIS, meanwhile, revved to life. The doctor looked down at the console, arms flailing as he adjusted the controls. "That's my pretty girl," he murmured.

The TARDIS gave one last heaving shudder...

Then died. The silence made their ears ring.

"No!" The Doctor cried as warning lights began to flash. "No! The Angels must be too close for her to get away. Come on, Sexy! You can do it!"

The engine revved again, but there was no liftoff. The doctor slumped at the console.

"Well, anybody got a plan B?" Dean asked.

"The wristbands!" Clara offered brightly.

"Wristbands?" Sam queried.

"The vortex manipulators, you mean?" spoke the Doctor. He shook his head. "But we can't use those! They would practically attract the Angels! And there are only two of them! No, there has to be some other way of defeating the Angels."

The TARDIS rocked again. Sam cringed and clutched the railing above him. "Whatever it is, somebody better come up with it fast!"

Dean stared hard at his brother as an idea started forming in his mind.

"These things blow apart like real stone, don't they?" He asked Clara.

She frowned. "We don't have any dynamite, if that's what your asking—or guns for that matter!" Another furious shake sent her tumbling forward on her hands and knees.

"But we have guns," Dean said. "Lots of them. In the trunk of our car." He glanced at Sam.

The younger Winchester caught what his brother was implying. He looked at Clara. "You say there are two of these manipulative thingies? How do they work?"

"Well, it's basically a portable teleportation device. I've used one but I'm not entirely sure—hang on!" She stared at him, wide-eyed. "You're not seriously thinking of going out there, are you?"

"It's our only chance," Dean insisted. "Sam and I know where the guns are. We can draw the Angels away just long enough for you to set up the TARDIS to move, and we can pop back in and set up the loop again."

"But they'll kill you!" she cried.

"We're not the ones they're after," Sam noted.

"I've got it!" announced the Doctor. In his hand was a device that looked like a small, square wrist calculator from the eighties.

"But—" Clara gave up protesting as Sam strapped on the device.

"Where's mine?" Asked Dean.

The Doctor shrugged. "If you are going together, you really only need one. It will lessen the quantum signature, at least. All you have to do is enter the coordinates you want—do you remember exactly where you parked the car?"

Dean nodded. "Out in front of the church."

"Left or right side of the gate?"

"Right side."

The Doctor fiddled with some buttons. "All right, you're set. Now, to travel together, you have to both be touching the vortex manipulator."

Sam held his arm out, clenching his hand in a fist. Dean reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Just hit the green button, and you'll end up right where you need to be. I've programmed the coordinates for the TARDIS, so once you get the guns, just press the button again, and it will send you right back." The Doctor watched them seriously. "More than likely, the Weeping Angels will start following you immediately, so be very careful, and whatever you do—"

"Yeah, I know," Dean cut in wryly. "Don't blink." He glanced at Sam. "Beam us out, Sammy."

Sam reached over with his free hand and hit the green button on the device.

In the silence, the Doctor sighed. "I was going to say 'Come right back,' but I guess 'Don't blink' works just as well."

* * *

To Dean, it felt like only a blink and they were standing outside, next to the Impala, the gravel crunching underfoot.

He squinched his eyes a couple times, flexing his hand as if he expected his fingers to tingle or something.

"That was weird," he muttered.

"Dean!" Sam was already poised at the Impala's trunk. "Keys?"

Dean nodded and stepped over to unlock the trunk.

"So, what should we grab?" Sam asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Dean said, gazing longingly at the array of revolvers and shotguns they enjoyed using. "According to the good Doctor, ballistics are out." He grinned and picked up the angel blade he'd taken from Ruby. "But what about some good, old-fashioned celestial steel?"

Sam shrugged. "It's worth a shot." He grabbed a second knife.

"Okay," Dean said, slamming it shut, "now that we're armed-"

"Dean, _look out!_ " Sam shoved his brother out of the way and brandished his blade at something behind him.

A Weeping Angel stood less than five paces away, reaching out with a savage, horrible grin. Now that Sam had his attention fixed on it, the Angel remained frozen.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean growled. "Gut the sonofabitch!"

"I can't!" Sam gasped. "The others will come!"

"Never mind, I'll do it," said Dean, drawing his knife and adjusting his grip before whirling and lunging in the same moment. The blade sunk easily into the hard surface, like slicing through hardened clay.

Sam kept staring until the concrete bust exploded into many small pieces, borne away by blinding beams of light.

"Let's go!" Dean grabbed Sam's hand.

Sam fumbled for the round green button, and pressed it-

But nothing happened.

" _Sonofabitch!"_ Dean swore.

"Dammit, now what do we do?" Sam said, as two more Angels materialized in his periphery. The boys were stuck back-to-back, staring at the Angels lest they get too close.

"Guess we have to fight them off ourselves," Dean grumbled, readying his knife and trying to fixate solely on the Angel in front of him.

"How's that going to work?" asked Sam. "If either of us blinks while taking the shot, the Angel can just move out of the way."

"So we both need to be looking at the same Angel," answered Dean. "We do it fast enough, they can't jump far enough to get us."

"They're already too close," Sam objected. "One jump is all they'll need."

"Dammit, we could really use that Doctor right about now," muttered Dean.

In the silence, a ringtone broadcasted the opening chord progression of a Led Zeppelin song. Without moving his gaze, Dean slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone to answer it.

"Who is this?" He demanded immediately.

"Hello, Dean?" Said the Doctor. "Just thought you boys must have run into a bit of trouble."

It was hard not to blink at this; how had he known? "Yeah, you could say that. Your little gizmo didn't work."

"Ah, yes, well—I had forgotten that, in order to keep the Angels out, I had disabled the external remote entry. So as long as there are Angels about, the only way you can get back into the TARDIS is by walking through the door."

"Well that's a pretty important piece of information to withhold!"

"Dean!" Clara's voice cut in. "Can you see how many angels there are?"

"Three that we know of," Dean answered. "We've got two of them here, but we can't set off any guns or they'll just get out of the way."

"Right," she said. "I've got the other vortex manipulator, and I'm coming out to help you. What I want you to do is tell me the exact position of the one you want me to take care of."

"I thought there weren't any weapons on the TARDIS," Sam pointed out.

"Right; the Doctor has these black hoods we'll use to blind them."

"Sounds good to me," replied Sam.

"Okay, I got a location for you," Dean announced.

"Ready."

"Remember the potted plant on top of the church wall?"

"Let me think... Yes, I know the one."

"All right, so if you land there, the Angel will be right in front of you."

"Got it." Clara ended the call and Dean tucked his phone back in his pocket—and took his eyes off the Weeping Angel. By the time he realized what he'd done, the cold stone hand gripped his wrist as he stared into the vicious stone eyes of the Angel.

Dean heard a whooshing sound, and then a woman's voice, "Got it!"

Clara had arrived. He heard Sam gasp as he saw what had happened. "Dean!"

Sam swung his own knife at the wrist of the Angel, and Dean came free, throwing himself backwards as Clara threw another hood over the Angel's head.

"Two down," she sighed with relief as Dean cut the fingers off the stone hand around his wrist to free himself. "One to go—"

Dean looked up to see a statue in the act of reaching toward Clara, frozen just short of its goal by a lucky glance. He pointed.

"Get out of the way!" He cried, and Clara took the hint and scurried toward him.

Sam and Dean advanced together, cutting off the hands first, then plunging their knives into the head and chest of the Angel.

Clara was still staring at them when they turned around. More to the point, she was staring at the knives they held.

"What the bloody hell are those?" She gasped. "I've never seen knives that can cut stone!"

"Celestial blades," Dean answered, moving to pull the knife out. The moment he did, its head twisted to stare right at him. Dean quickly shoved the knife back into its forehead. "Guess we're not doing that!" He muttered.

Sam glanced at the two hooded Angels. Warily, he reached out and tapped one outstretched arm. The Angel remained still.

"Think it worked?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Seems like; so, want to help move it?"

Dean nodded.

In fact, it took all three of them to assemble the statues in a triangle around the TARDIS. Once they succeeded, though, it was time to scurry back inside where the Doctor was waiting. Dean lurched forward as Sam all but bowled into him on the way through the door.

"What's your deal man?" Dean grunted.

"Sorry," Sam muttered. "I ducked and lost my balance there."

The Doctor was scrambling around the control console, throwing levers and pushing buttons.

"I've rigged the main catalytic converter on the TARDIS to disrupt the quantum time stream the Angels are using to siphon people away from this time," he rambled by way of explanation. "Once we activate, the resulting flux should trigger a chronological implosion that should negate the Angels' effects and erase them completely."

"Chronological?" Dean echoed. "Like a reset button on reality? You flip the switch, everything goes back to the way it was?"

The lanky Time Lord nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what it means."

Sam leaned over to Clara. "How did he just—"

She shook her head. "I've given up trying to wonder about things like that. It's like psychic paper; sometimes, understanding what the Doctor does is whatever you think you need him to do."

The Doctor placed a hand on the lever that would start up the TARDIS. "Ready?"

The brothers nodded. "Do it."

He slid the lever forward, and the massive piston began to whir and pump. The Doctor flipped a few switches and punched a large green button—

Then all sound died.

Dean reacted first. "What happened? What did you do?"

"Are we back to normal?" Asked Clara.

The Doctor frowned. "That should have worked, it should have done it."

"Why didn't it work?" Asked Sam.

The Doctor was checking screens and flipping toggles. "We're still in the broken timeline, just a new location for some reason. The defense sensors are picking up—" he peered at the radar readings. "Oh!"

When Sam and Dean stepped out of the TARDIS, it only took them a moment to realize where they were.

Sam glanced at Dean. "The church graveyard?" He mused.

Dean pointed, while his other hand readied his angel blade. "There!"

The last Weeping Angel stood in the graveyard, inadvertently caught in the long, slow stare of one of the many cows roaming the overgrown field. Its eyes were covered, and as long as it stood there, it was unable to move. The cow just continued munching placidly on the overgrowth.

Dean glanced at the box in Sam's hands. "Ready?"

Sam held the box like a football and flipped the lid open. "Ready," he said.

Dean moved into position behind the Angel. Knife poised, he swung his arm perpendicular to the neck. The stone head flew off the body, and Sam caught it in the box, snapping the lid shut. The brothers raced for the TARDIS as the familiar whooshing sound filled the air.

They made it through the door just in time.

"Go!" Dean barked, and the Doctor activated the catalyst.

The whole machine began to shake violently, driving all its passengers to the floor. In the dead stillness that followed, nobody dared to breathe. Everyone was listening as hard as they could.

"Think it worked?" Sam whispered.

The Doctor had already managed to make it to the door. "Only one way to find out," he said, opening it and peering carefully around.

The pealing of a bell made everybody flinch, but when the Winchesters joined their new friends at the door, they saw that, while they were still in the suburb on the outskirts of Milwaukee—it was once again filled with people. Father Tim's flock were coming to attend Sunday evening church. Sam recognized several faces as ones that had disappeared before, and Dean almost laughed with relief.

The Doctor drew back from the doorway. "Guess you'll be leaving, then," he said softly. "Mystery solved, disaster averted-and the world goes on as if it all never happened."

"Hey," Dean extended his hand. "We couldn't have done this on our own."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, shaking hands with the Doctor as well. "I mean, we hunt demons and such, but it's really not every day we're dealing with an alien entity from another dimension."

Clara smiled as she came to put an arm around the Doctor's waist. "Oh, that's just Tuesdays for us." The four friends shared a laugh.

The Winchesters left the TARDIS, waving as they did so. Dean gave a rapturous sigh as he sank into the front seat of the Impala.

"Oh Baby," he moaned, "Daddy's home."

Sam gingerly slipped the box with the Angel head into the back seat.

Dean frowned at him as he pulled out. "So what are you going to do with that, exactly?"

"Well, store it in the archives, for one thing," Sam replied. "I kind of want to see if the Men of Letters ever encountered that thing before."

Dean nodded pensively as he merged onto the main road that would take them back to Illinois. "Do you think the Men of Letters ever met a time-traveling Doctor?"

"I guess there's always a chance," Sam admitted. Privately, he resolved to write this whole thing down for the future Hunters, whoever they would be. At any rate, this would be a case they wouldn't forget in a hurry.


End file.
